A/N- This chapter was both a joy and a challenge to write. Getting just the right flow of the dialogue for all to be told without getting too effusive... it was unexpectedly difficult. But I love that, frankly, being pushed to be better.
2. A Mutually Beneficial Proposition
Hardly had Azelma made this announcement when a new set of footsteps could be discerned on the stairs. With a squeak, Azelma dived for her chair where she huddled up, making herself look as small as possible.
Eponine stood up and looked out the window. "It's that poxy man from this morning," she muttered, observing the thin form of Patrice Bonnay attending the door of the carriage that stood in front of the tenement.
"Which man?" Thenardier asked in a voice full of reckless excitement. "Which letter? What's the identity?"
"Fournier," she answered. "The one with the violin."
"Is she meant to be ill?" he asked, pointing to his wife.
Eponine nodded. "That's the one."
"Into bed!" Thenardier cried. Mme. Thenardier collapsed onto the cot, turning over to face the wall in what was probably a genuine show of annoyance, but served the deception of infirmity well.
At that moment, a knock sounded on the door. Azelma curled up still further, though no one would have supposed it possible, and Eponine melted back into the shadows in the corner, while Thenardier himself opened the door.
The elegant woman who stepped into the apartment looked, to Eponine, like some sort of mother goddess. Her wise face was bathed in the sunshine streaming in through the window, and she was the only well-lit face in the apartment as a consequence of the angle of the light. "Monsieur Fournier, I presume," she said to Eponine's father. Her voice was cultured and her tone firm but polite.
"Yes, Madame... Leveque?" he guessed.
She inclined her head, acknowledging that he had correctly ascertained her identity. "I received your letter this morning," she informed him, surveying the apartment with a cool gaze. Her eyes landed first on Azelma, who was watching her with her mouth hanging open, skimmed disinterestedly past the apparently sleeping form of the Thenardier matron, and touched at last on Eponine, who felt a shiver run up her spine under that serene look. "Yes, I see exactly why you applied to me," she said mostly to herself.
Thenardier opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say a word, she looked at him sharply. "Monsieur Fournier, how many children do you have?"
"Three, Madame," he said. "My two daughters you see here; my son is not here at the moment."
Eponine restrained a derisive snort only with difficulty.
The gentlewoman nodded thoughtfully. "I see. And your daughters... are they intelligent?"
"I-I... Beg pardon?"
"Your daughters," she repeated, exasperated. "Are they bright?"
Thenardier was thrown by this line of questioning. He did not understand what she was leading up to, and in consequence could not determine which answer would wring the most money out of the wealthy woman. Taking a guess, he responded, "I should say so. The eldest in particular. That one, there." He gestured vaguely toward Eponine.
"Let me see them," Mme. Leveque commanded. "Come here, you girls, stand in the light."
Azelma obeyed immediately, moving to stand before her. After a bit of cautious hesitation, Eponine joined her. She stood a few inches taller than her sister. Mme. Leveque advanced on the pair. She cupped Azelma's chin in her hand, the better to study her face. After a few moments, she turned her attention to Eponine, who flinched away from her touch. Mme. Leveque raised an eyebrow, but one corner of her mouth twitched upward, her eye turning thoughtful.
"Children are such a blessing, do you not agree, Madame?" Thenardier said obsequiously at her elbow.
"I do," responded Mme. Leveque. "And that is why I have a proposition for you, Monsieur Fournier."
Attempting to conceal a delighted smile, "Fournier" rubbed his hands together eagerly. "I most humbly thank-"
"I would like to take possession of one of your daughters," Mme. Leveque interrupted him.
For several seconds, the feculent little flat was still and silent. Then Thenardier found his voice again enough to ask, "What?"
The gentlewoman looked him steadily in the eye. "It is very simple, Monsieur Fournier," she said calmly. "I am not in the habit of giving handouts to those who do not truly deserve it. However, I am not a young woman, as you see. I have no children of my own, and I have reached that age when I desire the company of younger people. All of my own relatives are either dead, or dull enough that they might as well be."
Eponine laughed, and Mme. Leveque and her father both shot glances in her direction. The difference between their looks was that hers was calculating, and his was venomous.
Mme. Leveque continued after a moment as if there had been no interruption. "I would like to take one of your daughters to live in my house to act as... a companion, if you will." Seeing the hesitation on the con man's face, she added, "I see this as a mutually beneficial situation, Monsieur. I gain some youthful company and you are relieved of the obligation of supporting one of your offspring. I would care for the girl and, in exchange for her companionship, I would see to it that her prospects were improved as much as is in my power. I therefore see no disadvantage to either of us."
Thenardier, ever the dramatist, wrung his hands in a display of indecision that was perhaps a little too obvious to be genuine. "My daughters... the lights of my life..." he whined.
Mme. Leveque added airily, almost as an afterthought, "You would, of course, receive a small stipend for the use of her."
"How much?"
"Ten francs a month."
Thenardier's shoulders sagged even as he drew himself up to his full height (which was not as impressive as he would have liked to think). "Madame!" he exclaimed. "Is that all one of my beloved daughters is worth? My eldest child works as a laundress, her monthly income is twice that! If I were to give her up to you, I would take a tremendous loss, both personal and financial!"
"Very well," Mme. Leveque said, a slight note of exasperation entering her voice. She was no fool. She knew what this Fournier was and what he was trying to do. "Fifteen francs a month. With consideration for the amount it takes to feed a child, which you will no longer have to pay, I think you will find that you come out ahead financially. As to the personal loss, only you can make account of that."
Thenardier evaluated his sere haggling partner. Apparently he came to the conclusion that he would not get more than fifteen a month from her, because he nodded.
"Done!" he exclaimed. "Which one do you want?"
Mme. Leveque turned to look at the two girls, both of whom were following the conversation with rapt attention. For a very few moments, her eyes darted back and forth between them. She considered Azelma's slack-jawed, anxious look and her prettier face, weighed against Eponine's shrewd eyes and scrawny frame. Then she inclined her head toward the taller girl. "The eldest," she said decisively.
"Very well," Thenardier said, and stuck out his grubby hand as if to shake on the transaction, the way he might with one of his comrades.
The elderly woman looked at him with acid in her eyes, and he quickly returned his hand to his pocket, nodding uncomfortably to cover the awkward moment.
"When do I get paid?" Thenardier asked.
"I will send the fifteen francs on the first of every month, beginning next month. For the time being, I shall send you eight francs for the remainder of this month once your daughter is settled at my house."
Thenardier nodded. "Your ladyship is most gracious," he said through gritted teeth. He had obviously hoped to get recompense for a full month immediately.
"At what time should I expect to take custody of the child?" she asked. "How long will you need to make preparations and say goodbye?"
"Not very long, I should think," Azelma muttered from the corner she had returned to. Her voice was thick.
"Shall I send my manservant back later in the day, or perhaps tomorrow?" she asked.
"She'll need half an hour at most, my most esteemed Madame," Thenardier said, executing a low bow.
"In that case, I will wait. When you are ready, my valet and I will be downstairs. Good day to you all," she said. With a nod of her head directed toward all of them and none, she turned and walked gracefully from the room.
The moment she was gone, Mme. Thenardier was on her feet. She lumbered across the room to stand before her husband. "What have you done?" she demanded. "By God, my dearest, it was one thing to sell off the two brats, but our daughter, my little Eponine-!"
Thenardier was unaccustomed to his wife unleashing her excess of bile on him, and said nothing.
Eponine, however, had something to say about it. Laying a hand on her mother's arm, she said, "It's alright, Maman. I want to go."
It was true. Her love for her mother and sister was not strong enough to overcome the lure of what the wealthy old woman was offering. Eponine had seen the sumptuous mansion Mme. Leveque inhabited only that morning. It seemed impossible... but then, when she had been young, the idea of being turned out on the street with no food and nowhere to live had seemed impossible, too. This impossible thing seemed just within her grasp, and she was already clinging desperately to it. Memories of her childhood were dancing in her heads. Nice things, pretty dresses, good food, safety... it was a beautiful vision in her head, and Eponine was intoxicated with it.
Mme. Thenardier studied her daughter; what she saw seemed to strike a chord in her, for she embraced her daughter roughly and kissed her on the forehead. "I always wanted better for you," she said in a voice pitched low so that her husband, who had returned to his place by the table, would not hear. "I wanted you to be proper ladies... something better than this."
"I've got it," Eponine said. "Just you wait... I'll have all sorts of nice things, anything that old lady will give me! And tarts and jams and beefsteak every night for supper! Won't that be fine!"
The heavyset woman nodded and touched her daughter's cheek briefly before trundling back to her corner where she sat hunched over on the little cot, twisting her hands together nervously.
Azelma, meanwhile, had started crying.
Eponine approached her.
"It should've been me!" Azelma wailed. It was obvious that the opportunity of leaving the Gorbeau House had enticed her every bit as much as it had Eponine, and the loss of the chance had come as a blow. "I deserve it just as much as you do!"
"Stop crying, so I can kiss you," said Eponine in irritation.
"I hate you," Azelma spat at her.
Eponine shrugged. "Hate me, then. Once I'm a grand lady, I'll send you a bit of money."
"You couldn't be a grand lady if you were born a duchess," Azelma muttered. Then she let out a sob and threw herself into Eponine's arms, hugging her fiercely and very briefly before retreating to her place on the floor, where she wrapped her dirty arms around her legs and buried her face against her knees.
Eponine looked at the patriarch of the Thenardier family. "Papa?" she ventured.
He looked up from the next batch of begging letters he was writing. He waved a hand dismissively. "Go on, then," he said. "And see if there are any houses in the neighborhood that aren't well-guarded."
Eponine didn't have anything she wanted to take with her. All her things except for the clothes she wore on her back had been sold years before. She had said her farewells, such as they were. As far as she was concerned, she had no more business here. "Goodbye," she said. "Tell Gavroche where I am next time he shows up, won't you?"
Both her father and mother ignored her, but she noted that Azelma's dark head bobbed once or twice against her knees. Eponine decided that would have to be good enough. And so without another word, she turned and walked out of the apartment.
